


if i'm all that you desire, i promise there'll be fire

by oui_oui_mon_ami



Series: one hundred ways [4]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: 100 ways to say i love you, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, POV Achilles, POV Second Person, Pining, i love pining achilles so much, tried to do something a little different here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oui_oui_mon_ami/pseuds/oui_oui_mon_ami
Summary: Sometimes, it's the little things.Inspired by sunflowers-and-bucky's tumblr post "100 ways to say 'I love you' without actually saying 'I love you'"





	if i'm all that you desire, i promise there'll be fire

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Sam Smith's "Say It First" which is suuuch a patrochilles song i love it

Sometimes, it’s the little things that make you aware of just how much you mean to each other.

Like the way you both remember when you first met. He laughs as you remind him how scrawny he was, and replies that you haven’t changed half as much as he has throughout the years. He _was_ scrawny, and shy, and he had stared at you curiously, like none of the other kids had done, like he was really _seeing_ you, as a person and not just the mayor’s son.

Then there’s the way you fell so easily into a friendship. Even though your mother disapproved. Everything was, is, so simple with him, it’s like you don’t need to pretend around him. You can just be you. Which is scary, because you’ve never done that before around anyone else.

There’s also the time you both cried when your parents sent you to boarding school when you were fourteen. The day after you left, he ran away from home to find you. You saw him run into the dining hall, a full rucksack on his back, and almost leaped over a table to crush him in a hug. You didn’t care that you were both crying and getting your nice new uniform wet. You didn’t care that your new classmates and teachers were staring, that you’d be called into the principal’s office later or that you’d have names, horrible names, called at you in the playground. You only lasted a term before getting yourself expelled, and you made sure four years later that you would be going to the same college.

Sometimes, it’s the little things that betray how much he cares for you.

Like when he remembers your birthday, even when you hate celebrating it. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just sits down opposite you in the cafeteria, setting in front of you a cupcake with bright yellow frosting and orange sugar that you _know_ came from the fancy bakery twenty minutes down the road, and saying with a shrug, “ **This made me think of you** ”. And your heart feels like it could burst, because your best friend is perfect.

Like the fact that you’re the only person he trusts with his panic attacks. You’ve known about them from the beginning, helped him through his first one and made sure he got help in secret. You know that his father is the main cause of them. You swore not to tell anyone about them, not until he’s ready to, and you’re not going to make that choice for him.

And like how, when you tell him in a shaking whisper that you like boys just the same as girls, he simply smiles, hugs you, and thanks you for telling him. Later that night, though, he tells you he’s gay, and that you’ll be alright, the two of you, you’re not broken like his father says. And you want to squeeze him, kiss him blue there and then because he’s so brave and you’re so happy he’s your best friend.

Sometimes, it’s the little things that make feelings grow.

Like whenever you’re sitting out in the sun and he’s poring over his many textbooks and the light hits his dark hair in a certain way that makes it almost glitter, and you’re momentarily taken aback by how beautiful he looks with a fiery halo of hair around his head. And when he catches you staring, mouth agape, and asks you if he has something on his face, you have to lower your gaze as your cheeks burn – and not from the sun.

Like when he finds you in the silence of the kitchen of your shared apartment at three in the morning, and you lean against the counter together, just enjoying each other’s company. Your hands are on the worktop, almost touching but not quite, and your heart is hammering out of your chest – so loud you think he can hear it – just thinking about moving yours just a few inches to cover his.

Like when you’re playing at one of your gigs and catch him in the audience, smiling at you so warmly that you realise that the song you’re playing is about him, it’s always been about him, because _you love him_

Love isn’t a little thing.

 

Sometimes, though, it’s the little things that give you hope.

Like how your friends steal knowing glances between the two of you when they think you can’t see them (and sometimes, even, when they know you can see them), and how they’ve started leaving you two alone more and more often for some reason, making up shitty excuses to be anywhere else, even when you’re pleading silently with them, eyes wide.

And like how his touches linger, fingers grazing your upper arm, shoulders bumping together as you walk, hugs that last a little too long. It makes you shiver almost every time. It’s like he’s trying to find any excuse to touch you, and you only know that’s the case because you wish you were brave enough to do the same.

And, finally, how when you finally gather up the courage to kiss him, one warm night sharing a blanket in front of the television when it feels so right that you can’t not do it, he kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: sunshine-soprano


End file.
